


Hearts Can Still Be Wrong

by crementea



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Neverland, Peter Pan Louis, im really bad at tags idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 08:29:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1738022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crementea/pseuds/crementea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is Peter Pan and Harry has kind of been in love with him since the first time Louis snuck in through the window when Harry was 14</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hearts Can Still Be Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> this was really just to fix a craving I was having for louis as peter pan..  
> title is lyrics from Risk It All by The Vamps

When Harry is fourteen, he wakes in the middle of the night to loud crash and a mumbled " _Ouch. Damn it._ " from the far end of his bedroom. He reaches to turn on the lamp beside his bed as he peers around the foot of his bed, heart feeling ready to jump out of his chest. 

What he sees in the soft glow of the lamp, is a boy struggling to pick various items up off of the floor which Harry knows were once on his dresser by the window. The boy is moving about skittishly, dropping and then catching Harry's comb four times before he has it set firmly on the top of the dresser. The boy starts to turn in Harry's direction, but his wrist catches a picture frame sitting on the back corner of the dresser and it tumbles to the ground before the boy can catch it. 

"Shit.. Damn it." The boy is now sitting crisscross on the floor, a sad look on his face as he picks up the frame and the bigger shards of glass that are scattered about the floor, putting them back on the photo in the frame in an attempt to recreate the glass plate that was once covering it. 

"Be careful," Harry says before he can stop himself, taking a step forward as the boy jumps from the ground, back hitting the wall with a thud and a gasp. 

Harry's eyes are glued to the boy's feet because they're not touching the ground, hovering just a few inches above the hardwood floor. Something drips onto the boy's bare foot that causes Harry to look up — the boy's hand is covered in blood, still tightly gripping one of the shards of glass. The boy's eyes are wide and his mouth his hangs open, he looks terrified, and Harry doesn't think he's even noticed that his own hand is bleeding. 

"You've cut yourself," Harry states quietly, afraid that if he is any louder than a whisper, he'll make the boy more scared than he already is ⎯ which is fucking ridiculous because Harry doesn't even know who this boy _is_ or how he got into his fucking bedroom. The only plausible way would be the window that is letting in a draft, and definitely was closed when Harry had gone to sleep, but that's still fucking crazy because Harry's bedroom is at least twenty-five feet off the ground and it isn't as if there's a tree just outside his window or a trellis that the boy could have climbed up. There's literally nothing, no way he could've scaled the house up and into Harry's bedroom, but then Harry looks back to the boy's blood-stained feet that aren't touching the fucking ground and, right, okay.

Harry searches the boy's face, noting his wide, wet eyes and the way he's gone from his mouth hanging open to gnawing incessantly on his lower lip. Once Harry deems that the boy shows no signs of using the shard of glass to like, slit Harry's throat or something, he takes a few slow steps forward, tentatively reaching out for the boy's hand. 

The boy flinches, but allows Harry to uncurl his fingers from around the piece of glass, letting it drop to the floor with a small clink. Harry's fingers curl around the boy's wrist gently, pulling him toward the door and into the hallway. The boy's eyes are still wide, but at least now they're looking at his own bleeding hand, rather than at Harry. 

The fact that the boy is still floating above the ground is making Harry anxious, so once they reach the bathroom, Harry pushes lightly on the boy's shoulder until he's sitting on the edge of the bathtub. Harry releases his wrist just long enough to open the cupboard and pull out a bottle of rubbing alcohol, a flannel, some gauze, and a small roll of medical tape. 

The boy flinches when Harry brings the alcohol-covered flannel to his hand to wipe the blood away, swearing under his breath as he hovers an inch above the lip of the tub. 

"Sorry," Harry murmurs, bringing a hand to the boy's shoulder again to push him back down against the bathtub, wiping the blood away from his hand again, but gentler this time. 

The boy continues to gasp quietly and squirm at the sting as Harry cleans and puts gauze on the deep cut, and Harry gently nudges him back to sitting against the bathtub every time he does so. 

"Who, um, who was the girl? In the picture?" 

Harry startles, hearing the boy's voice directed at him for the first time, looking up to find him no longer staring at his hand, but watching Harry. 

"My sister, Gemma. She's gone away to school, s'why I've got the photo framed." 

"D'you miss her?" The boy asks quietly, almost like he's not sure if he actually wants Harry to answer, but he does anyway. 

"Yeah, 'course. She's my sister, how could I not?" It was just a rhetorical question, but the sad look on the boy's face makes him wish he'd just given him a simple _"Yes."_

Harry is about to say something, apologize, maybe, for making the boy look so upset, but he speaks before Harry gets the chance.

"'M really sorry I broke it." He says it quietly, suddenly paying very close attention to Harry's technique as he wraps tape around his gauze-covered hand. "Really didn't mean to — just wanted one of the shiny plates you keep beside your dresser.. I had one, right? Back at the treehouse? But Liam sat on it and it's Niall's favourite thing in the world and now it’s _broken_. Didn't make the big rainbows anymore when the sunlight hit it, and Niall was so upset. I hate coming back here, it's scary, all the big trucks and tall buildings and stuff, y'know? But it was killing me, Niall so upset, and this was the first window that wasn't locked and, like.. I wasn't going to take anything else, honest, just this shiny plate." 

The boy pulls a CD from his belt, tilting it at different angles and looking pretty mesmerized himself with the way it shines in the light coming from above the sink. 

"You were gonna steal my Robbie Williams CD?" Harry asks with a frown, and he's genuinely upset because, Harry _loves_ that CD. 

"Your what?" The boy replies with a confused pout on his lips, eyebrows furrowing, "S'not even a very good plate, I mean, look at how small it is, and s'got a hole right in the middle — can’t imagine it holds your food well anyways, and besides, like, how many plates d'you even _need_ , you've got, like, twenty on the shelf by the window."

"Plate? It's ⎯ " Harry let's out a breathy laugh, even though he's a bit confused because, _where did this boy come from?_ "It's not a plate.. It's a CD. Y'know, it has music on it?" 

Harry releases the boy's wrist now that he's finished taping the gauze around his cut and he looks up at the boy to find his eyes wide, still tilting the CD at every angle with his good hand. 

"This plate can make _music_?"

"It doesn't _make_ the music, s'not, like, an instrument. It has music on it, you put it in a CD player and⎯" The boy is listening intently to Harry's every word, but Harry is almost certain that he's got no idea what he's actually saying to him. "C'mon, I'll show you." 

Harry leads the boy back into his bedroom and takes the CD from his hand, placing it in the stereo system and turning the volume to low. The opening notes to Rudebox began to fill the room, just loud enough for the two boys to hear it. Harry watches the boy's face as they listen to the song, he looks absolutely astonished, jaw slack and eyes soft as he watches the disc spin in fast circles in the player. 

They listen to the entire Robbie Williams CD, Harry sits at the foot of his bed singing quietly under his breath, watching the boy the whole time. Through the duration of the CD, the boy doesn't speak once, just sits crisscross four feet above the ground, hovering in front of the stereo with his chin resting on his fists. 

When the CD finishes, Harry stands and goes to the stereo to remove the disc. He turns to face the boy, and he begins to hover lower, so that their faces are at the same height. 

"That was sick." The boy says quietly, "I mean, the rainbow plate was cool, but that is sick." He points to the stereo as he says it, eyes flickering between Harry's, to the disc in his hand, and back to Harry's eyes again. The fingers on the boy's good hand are twitching, like they're just dying to reach out. 

"What's your name?" Harry asks. The boy in front of him is beautiful, all soft swept sandy hair and some green getup, (which Harry _really_ wants to say is some sort of dress) with a little leather belt wrapped around his waist, a small dagger sitting snug in one of the loops on the belt. He's mysterious and gorgeous and Harry really just wants to put a name to this boy. 

"M'Louis," The boy replies with a smile, hands going to his hips proudly as he says his name. 

"What's your surname, though? Louis what?"

"Surname?" The boy asks, a confused pout replacing the smile on his lips. 

"Yeah," Harry says, "Y'know, like, my name is Harry Styles. My mum, sister, and dad all have the Styles part ⎯ that's the surname. What's your mum's second name?" 

"Oh," The boy sinks a little lower in the air, so that his feet are touching the ground and he's standing just a couple of inches taller than Harry. Louis' hands move from their place on his hips, one resting at his side and the other reaching up to scratch his cheek, "Well, I don't have a mum⎯so I suppose I haven't got a surname, Harry Styles." 

Harry chuckles, "Everyone's got a mum, Louis." 

But apparently that wasn't the right thing to say, because Louis comes off of the ground to float a few more inches above Harry. He has to tilt his head upward now to look at Louis, and it makes him feel a bit inferior to the beautiful boy in green. Louis' face looks angry, eyes hard and mouth set into a firm line, it makes Harry feel a tinge of sadness. 

"No, _Harry Styles_ , not everyone has a _mum_ , thank you very much." He doesn't say it like he's annoyed, he says it like he's upset by it, the idea that he should have a mum but doesn't. 

"'M sorry, I didn't mean to make you, like, angry." Harry says quietly, he feels a bit like he's going to cry, the familiar burning behind his eyes and _fuck_ , it's stupid how emotional he is, it's no wonder why he's picked on at school — it's just _really_ distressing, the thought that he's wiped a pretty smile off Louis' lips and replaced it with something resembling anger. 

Harry blinks hard and he feels it when the first tear leaks out and trails down his cheek. Louis comes back down so quickly that his feet make a little thump when he hits the ground. Harry feels hands on either side of his face and Louis is wiping away the single tear with his wrapped up hand, gentle and barely-there. 

"Don't cry." Louis begs, "Please, please don't cry, I'm sorry for snapping, I shouldn't have, just _please don't cry_." 

Harry nods in Louis' grip, letting out a tiny breathless, "Okay," mesmerized at how soft his rough hands feel against the heat of his face. 

Louis nods and steps back, removing his hands from Harry's cheeks, a small smile on his lips again. As Louis' hands move away from his face, he knocks a stack of books onto the floor and they land with a very loud bang and a moment later — 

"Harry? Are you alright?" 

Both Louis and Harry's eyes are wide at the sound of Harry's mother from down the hall, they can hear her scrambling about as she gets out of bed to come down the hallway. 

"I've got to go⎯" Louis says as he flies out the open window. 

"Wait," Harry catches his wrist just before he gets all the way out. "Will you come back?" 

"Yeah, Harry. Yeah, I'll come back." Louis looks frantic, eyes flickering to Harry's doorway and back, but he doesn't look genuine, and it's like Harry can somehow tell that he's lying. 

"Promise?"

" _Yes_ , Harry, I promise. I've got to _go_ ⎯"

"Take this," Harry says, holding out the Robbie Williams CD still in his hand. 

Louis takes it from him quickly, shoving it back underneath his belt. He eyes the city below Harry's window, swallowing hard before looking back to Harry with a tight smile. 

"I promise." 

And then he's gone, wrist sliding out of Harry's grip just as his mum gets to the doorway. Harry doesn't see where Louis flies off to, looking to his mum and feigning sleepy behavior. When she asks what had happened, he tells her he was sleepwalking as he picks up the books and goes to place them back on his desk. 

When he wakes in the morning, theres a small tear of green cloth caught in the wood of his windowsill, and a broken picture frame on the floor by his dresser, a few drops of blood on the hardwood floor. 

Harry keeps the piece of green cloth under his pillow for months, willing Louis to come back like he promised he would. 

When Harry turns fifteen, he shoves the piece of cloth to the back of a drawer in his dresser, angry and confused and wondering if he's crazy when Louis doesn't come back. 

He doesn't see Louis again for three and a half years.


End file.
